


Supernova

by Amelia_Clark



Series: Liz Phair's Music for Threesomes [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cas is the best boyfriend ever, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:32:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re curled up postcoitally when Cas asks, “Dean, do you miss heterosexual intercourse?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernova

“Two rooms?” the desk clerk asks, her eyes sliding away from the game she’s playing on her phone to take in the road-weary trio before her.

“No, just one,” says Sam, tapping a stolen credit card on the counter. “Two kings if you have ‘em.”

Dean can tell that—beneath her professional mask—the woman’s trying to work out which pair of good-looking men is planning to share a bed. Generous guy that he is, he drifts a bit closer to Cas, puts a gentle but possessive hand on the small of the angel’s back—then tries not to smirk as he watches the clerk’s eyes flicker between the two of them with hungry awe. 

He knows most straight (and mostly straight) dudes have a thing for lesbians, of course, but it’s come as a shock how many women seem _really really into_ the idea of him and Cas together.

It’s kind of an awesome revelation about the female of the species, to tell the truth. 

Dean wonders if Cas might someday be willing to scratch that particular itch; he pictures a hot chick sitting by the bed while the two of them go at it, maybe getting so overwhelmed with lust she can’t help but join in, and—

“Uh, Sam,” he says, grabbing Cas’s hand, “we’re gonna go get some ice, we’ll be in in a minute.”

He practically drags the angel down the hall, feeling the clerk’s gaze follow them like a caress. Cas’s eyebrows quirk in momentary confusion as Dean strides right past the ice machine, but he’s picked up by now that sometimes Dean’s lying to Sam means imminent sex, and so he acquiesces as Dean muscles him into the motel’s deserted breakfast room. 

(An illusion, of course, that Dean could ever overpower him, but an illusion Cas seems to enjoy preserving.)

The room’s only light is the dim motion-activated one underneath the security camera; Dean makes sure they’re in the frame before shoving Cas up against a wall and dropping to his knees.

“Dean,” Cas hisses, scandalized. “This is inappropriate behavior for a public space. Someone could walk by at any moment.”

Dean grins up at him wickedly. “Yeah, I know. That’s what makes it so hot.” He yanks open the angel’s belt, untucks his shirt, and kisses his stomach, running his tongue along the edge of his waistband. Cas hisses again, but makes no move to stop him.

Sliding one hand down Cas’s pants to cup his cock, Dean presses in to feel it gather strength and swell under his palm. Cas moans and sags back against the wall, reaching out to trace the curve of one ear, the angle of Dean’s jaw. His fingers brush Dean’s lips, and Dean turns his head to suck them briefly before sinking down on a mouthful of rigid heat.

Always an A student when it comes to sex, Dean’s picked up a few tricks since he first did this, and he’s able to pull gasps and yelps and reverent intonations of his name out of Cas precisely as he pleases. The angel’s hands cradle his head, tearing vainly at hair too short to pull. Dean’s gotten him as close as he intends to—there’s a _lot_ of glass in this room—when Cas suddenly freezes mid-thrust.

“Dean,” he whispers, shock in his voice. “There is a _camera_ in here. I believe it is recording this encounter.”

Damn, he hoped Cas wouldn’t notice. Reluctantly, he disengages from the blowjob and sits back on his haunches. “Uhm. I know.”

“You _know_?” Cas zips up quickly under cover of his trenchcoat, brow furrowing further. “Why would you initiate this, then?”

“Uh.” Great, time to explain kink to the angel. Dean stands, boosts himself up onto the counter opposite Cas. “Well, you saw the desk clerk, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see how she looked at us? Like she wanted to, I don’t know, dress us in matching outfits and keep us in a glass case in her living room?”

“I don’t think I could correctly interpret that expression if it was present.”

"It’s a metaphor. I just mean—she wanted to fuck us, OK? Or, actually, she liked thinking about us fucking each other. Some women are into that, two dudes doin’ it. Especially—well, we’re objectively pretty hot.”

“I see.” Cas’s freaked-out face has shaded into his fascinated-by-humanity face, thank God. “And you understood this, and found her desire arousing in turn?”

“Yeah. I guess. I like the idea of her getting off on us getting off. Good feelings all round.”

“So the camera—”

“The monitor’s on her desk, yeah. I’m sure she’s been watching us this whole time.”

Cas glances up at the lens, as if he’s meeting the girl’s eyes. “What a kind thing to do for a stranger, Dean.”

Dean cracks up. “Yeah, I’m a real humanitarian. C’mon, let’s head back to our room, see what’s on TV.”

The clerk’s holding a cold can of Coke to the back of her neck, high spots of color on her cheeks. She jumps a mile as they pass by, and Dean chuckles when Cas flashes her a winning smile.

*****

They’re curled up postcoitally that night, Sam snoring across the way, when Cas asks, “Dean, do you miss heterosexual intercourse?”

Dean stills the hand that’s idly combing through Cas’s sweat-damp bangs and says carefully, “Why do you ask?”

Cas sits up and stabs his blue gaze through Dean. “I am aware that this vessel is not your usual gender preference. That you have more practice trading pleasure with a female body. And since you were aroused by a woman’s witnessing our lovemaking, I wondered if you missed the more direct experience.”

“I do. And I don’t. It’s complicated.”

“It might become less so if you elaborate.”

Dean sighs. “Look, Cas, I’ve had sex with a lot of women. Like, I tried doing the math once, and I think a couple hundred sounds like a good estimate? Jesus, I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

“I would not be with you if I found your sexual history distasteful, Dean. You did not start this conversation.”

“Fair enough. OK, yeah, I’ve been around the block a few times. But it’s been a while, since before Purgatory—God, I think it was that Amazon? That’s not a great experience to go out on. Or at least, the aftermath wasn’t.” He’s babbling again. “So, yeah, of course I miss it. Miss them. But I don’t _need_ it, Cas. I’m thrilled to just sleep with you.”

“And I with you.” Cas kisses him, slow and sweet. “However, I want you to be sexually fulfilled, Dean, so if you miss women, I would like you to have them. But . . . I would prefer to be there as well.”

It takes a second for this to filter through Dean’s sex-clouded brain. “Cas! Are you actually suggesting a _threesome_?”

Cas nods shyly.

“‘Dear _Penthouse_ , I never thought it would happen to me,’” mutters Dean, and before Cas’s blank look can become a question, he goes on: “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

“May I make an additional request? I would be more comfortable having a prior acquaintance with the woman.”

“Sure. Fine. Absolutely,” Dean says, mind racing. “Not a problem.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says with relief. He pauses. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Do we know any women?”

*****

As it turns out, their female acquaintances—at least the ones whom they could reasonably attempt to contact, and try to talk into this—are thin on the ground. 

Charlie’s gay. 

Becky’s insane. 

Sheriff Mills? Maybe, but Dean can’t remember her first name. (Sam would know, but Sam is _not_ part of this brainstorming session.)

Neither of them mentions Lisa, oblivious in Indiana.

It’s never struck Dean until he makes the list—Cas insists on fetching pen and paper—that most of the women he’s known at all well are dead, starting with Mom:

Ellen. 

Jo. 

Pamela. 

Bela. 

Anna (also unspoken—Dean doesn’t like reminding Cas that he’s not his first angel).

Even Ruby and Lilith, evil soulless bitches that they were. 

Wait, speaking of evil soulless bitches…

“Meg?” they say at the same time.

It’s not the worst idea they’ve ever had. Meg’s no girl next door, but that’s not what you want in a group sex situation anyway, and she came through for them in the Leviathan fight. Also, she’s hot, and probably kinky as hell, and—

“And I have already kissed her,” says Cas solemnly.

“Yeah, and believe me that’s burned into my retinas forever. Are you sure you could have sex with a demon? Wouldn’t that, uh, permanently change your alignment?”

Cas is silent, and when Dean looks at him, he’s actually blushing. “You dog, Cas! Bringing her up like it’s for me. You want to sex her up your own damn self!”

“She was very kind to me in the mental hospital, Dean,” stammers Cas. “And her hair is very soft. So is her mouth. I have sometimes dreamt of her naked.”

“You adorable feathery pervert.”

“What about you, Dean? You and Meg have a fraught history, to say the least. Do you think you would be able to engage in intercourse with her?”

“Don’t say intercourse, Cas. No one calls it intercourse. And yeah, I think I could. I don’t like her, but I’ve had sex with women I liked less.”

“That makes me sad, Dean.”

“Spare me the waterworks, Cas. Let’s do this.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few nights later they get their own room, agreeing that Sam must never hear of this, and summon her into a devil’s trap. Meg arrives smoky-eyed and leather-jacketed and _pissed_.

“What the hell?!” she shouts, leaning into the magic trapping her like she’s going to punch through it with sheer fury. “I’m in your corner, you dumb bastards! I _just_ fought my way out of Crowley’s custody, why am I trussed up like a Thanksgiving—wait. Are you holding hands?”

They are, and she grins. “Well, mazel tov, you two! This changes everything—I assume you want me to be maid of honor? I warn you, I won’t wear teal or fuchsia.”

“I take it back,” Dean mutters, “this _is_ the worst idea we’ve ever had.”

Cas squeezes his hand reassuringly and levels his stare at Meg. “Dean and I appreciate your congratulations, and we would like to invite you to have sex with us,” he says. “Please.”

Dean’s never seen a demon look surprised before. And it’s a good thing he catches it, because it only takes a second before Meg starts laughing. 

And laughing, and laughing.

She’s wiping tears from her eyes by the time she calms down. “I’m so flattered you thought of me, boys.”

“We don’t know a lot of women,” says Cas.

“Less flattered now.”

“Look, is it yes or no?” Dean growls. “Because I’m getting laid tonight either way.” 

Meg cocks her head to one side in a parody of Cas’s I-don’t-understand-that-reference gesture. “All right, I’ll do it, but only because making the beast with three backs with an angel of the Lord and his boyfriend who hates me pretty much pushes all the buttons I’ve got. Two conditions, though—first, I get to drive.”

Cas is obviously about to protest that they’re not taking the car anywhere, and Meg cuts him off before he gets the words out. “That means I’m in charge of everything, OK? I’ll tell you what to do and who to touch, and you’ll obey me and like it.”

“Oh,” says Cas. “Yes, agreed.”

Dean crosses his arms and glowers.

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetie,” Meg coos. “You’ve got ‘secret submissive’ written all over your pretty, pretty face.”

“OK, fine, I’ll do what you say,” Dean says grudgingly. “What’s the second condition?”

“Give me ten minutes to make a playlist.”

*****

“‘Barracuda’? Really?” 

“Hey, this is for you, Dean. Figured you’d need a classic jam to get you in the mood. Next track’s Liz Phair, and that one goes out to Clarence and his wicked kisses.” She smirks--well, smirks more, since it’s really her default expression. “Now shut up and get naked, hunter.”

Meg insists on taking Cas’s coat off herself before she sheds jacket and boots to sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed to watch the two of them take the rest of their clothes off. No help’s forthcoming for Dean, who strips with hyper-casual bravado. Meg’s taste in music aside—and, y’know, her foul black heart—he’s still rapidly hard beneath her mocking gaze. 

He sneaks a glance at her, and God, what’s more attractive than an aroused woman? Already there’s a sheen to her eyes, a flush rising into the hollow of her throat, and her nipples are making themselves known through her still-unfairly-on shirt—and no one’s even touched her yet. She almost makes Dean want to ignore their stupid agreement, throw her down on the mattress, and fuck her demon brains out.

But then he looks at Cas— _his_ Cas, his angel—and oh, right, that’s what’s more attractive. The look in those beach-resort-brochure-blue eyes is one part avarice and one part worship and two or three parts terror, and Dean knows that look by heart, because he’s worn it himself. At fourteen, when the junior with the pierced eyebrow and the wood-panelled station wagon unzipped his fly; at twenty, when that KU psych major mentioned that her roommate just bought some E and did he want to roll with them?; and now, he’s pretty sure, every time Cas reaches for him.

It says: _I want everything, all at once, immediately, but I don’t even know what it is I want. I’m in way over my head, and it’s an awesome place to be._

“Kiss him,” Meg orders, with a gratifying hitch in her voice. 

It doesn’t matter which of them she’s talking to, but it’s Dean who moves first, lifting Cas’s chin and covering the angel’s mouth with his own. They don’t bother with tenderness tonight—Cas catches Dean’s lower lip and worries it with his teeth, Dean bites back, rams his tongue deep into Cas’s mouth, forcing a sharp little moan. Their hands hover over each other’s bodies, waiting for permission.

But it’s Meg’s hands that creep down between them to stroke their cocks together, murmuring, “My turn,” as she nudges into the kiss, tongue curling to meet first Cas’s, then Dean’s, then both. She tugs her shirt over her head—her bra is sheer and red and clasps in front, and she drapes their closest hands over her breasts and stretches like a happy cat before taking hold of them again. “Mmm, symmetry,” she purrs. “I’m pretty sure I saw this on an inkblot test once.”

She tumbles them flat on the bed in a gasping pile, moves hands and mouths with authority, shimmies out of her black jeans to reveal a matching crimson thong. 

After that things are glorious chaos for a bit:

“Clarence,” Meg whispers, biting Cas’s wrist.

“Dean,” Cas sobs, fingers climbing the ladder of his spine.

“Meg,” Dean pleads to his surprise, clicking her bra open and palming a breast.

" _You’re an angel with wings of fire_ ,” Liz Phair sings.

Meg shrugs out of the straps of her bra and grabs Dean’s hand from where it’s tweaking a nipple, sliding it down over her belly and past the elastic of her panties. She’s warm and wet, and Dean’s practiced fingers find her clit, rubbing in tiny circles, making her gasp. She leans back against Cas, lying on the other side of her, and cranks her neck over one shoulder to shove her tongue down his throat, frantically arching between the two of them like a bowstring about to snap.

Cas cups her breasts in both hands and squeezes experimentally. “You’re so _soft_ ,” he says, wonder in his voice, “like the cat’s belly, but smooth.” She laughs, bucks her hips forward into Dean’s touch; his fingers slip down and inside, where she’s wetter and warmer and OK, yes, he’s missed this.

Dean’s had to pick up some new sex skills lately, but this is an old one—so old, in fact, that he still thinks of it as “finger-banging” in his internal monologue. It’s like riding a bike; he keeps his thumb circling her clit and glides two fingers in and out, beckoning upwards at just the right spot deep within to make her leave off kissing Cas ( _his_ Cas) and let out a small shriek of glee.

He turns her head to face him, and if her eyes were glazed before now they’re barely able to focus, glossy with half-fulfilled desire. Dean knows he could make her come without much more effort, but he’s got a better idea. “Do you want me to get you off like this, or do you want me to show Cas how?”

She shudders all over and grins. “What a lovely idea. And everyone says Sam’s the smart one. The angel, pretty please.”

“Cas, that OK with you?” Cas nods. “All right. First step: take her panties off.” The angel abandons his exploration of Meg’s breasts to peel the damp thong down and draw it over her ankles. Dean sucks his sticky fingers, eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the seawater tang of her pussy. Yeah, he’s definitely tasting more of that later.

Right now, Meg’s whimpering at the sudden lack of contact, and Dean laces his fingers through Cas’s, pulls the angel’s hand down to where she’s spread and waiting. He guides Cas’s thumb to the tense core of her body, applies pressure. “Feel that?” he murmurs. “How her breath changes when you touch her there?” Cas’s forehead crinkles with concentration. “That’ll tell you what she wants—more or less, hard or soft. If you’re paying attention, she shouldn’t have to say anything at all.”

Which is good, because Meg seems to have lost the capacity for articulate speech—she’s just pouring out syllables, hoarse and sibilant. And Cas applies himself with all the focus and finesse of a safecracker, stroking and grinding until she’s driving her hips up into his hand. At Dean’s prompting, Cas thrusts three fingers to their full length inside her, and she comes hard, grabbing him by the hair and dragging his mouth up to hers to swallow her scream.

Dean takes this opportunity to bury his face between her legs.

In the back of his mind, he’s been worried that she might taste of sulfur. But, no, not at all, this is 100% woman, right up there with pie in his all-time favorite flavors. (He tried combining the two once, with an incredulous but willing waitress in Toledo, who unfortunately turned out to be allergic to blueberries. That was a fun ER visit.) At first, he just licks at her, sloppy and eager as a desert dweller at an oasis, but then she pants, “Ooh, Dean, I knew that smartass mouth of yours had to be good for something,” and dammit, Meg, way to ruin the moment.

 _Fine, then_ , thinks Dean. _Time to tongue-fuck the snark right out of her_.

He narrows his tongue to a point, plunges it into her, moves to flick it over her clit, and back, and again, building up a rhythm that reduces her to stuttering consonants once more. She runs one heel down his spine and jerks her shoulders a foot off the bed as her second orgasm overtakes her.

Dean worries for a moment that Cas is feeling neglected, but then he feels a masculine hand on his head, petting the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck. When he looks over, Cas has pillowed his head on Meg’s left thigh and stretched his body down along Dean’s, cuddling up against him as he watches, rapt.

From a mentorship perspective, Dean should probably let Cas take a turn at this, give him some protips. Turns out he’s not as generous as Cas is, though—he sort of wants to hoard all the orgasms the angel’s willing to give for himself. Instead, he skips a beat to smear his Meg-slicked mouth over Cas’s, then goes back to eating pussy, curious to see just how many times he can make her come like this before she remembers she’s supposed to be calling the shots.

It’s three. Three times, and then she kicks him away and forces him onto his back, pinning his wrists above his head in an iron grip. She climbs atop him, pushes her mouth against his so hard he can feel his lip split over his teeth, and sucks her own taste and a hint of blood from his tongue as she impales herself on his cock.

She’s slamming up and down with bruising force, her eyes gone pitch black, when Cas twists one hand in her hair and yanks her up, fury in his eyes. “You’ve hurt Dean,” he growls.

Meg laughs in his face and snaps her hips forward, pulling against his hold. “What, you think he doesn’t like this, Clarence? That he wasn’t asking for it?” She looks down at Dean, defenseless beneath her. “You think he doesn’t want to be punished?”

“He is not yours to punish,” says Cas, deep and dangerous. “He is not yours at all.”

Dean breaks up the discussion by coming, hard and sudden as a bolt of lightning.

It’s not the frenzied fuck that does it. It’s that voice, goddamn it, that thunderous fucking warrior’s voice, raised in his defense for the thousandth time.

*****

Not once in his illustrious career has Dean Winchester kicked a woman out of bed.

Technically, he still hasn’t, because it’s Cas who refuses to be mollified, even after mending Dean’s cut lip with a touch of fingers. And in fact, it’s Dean who convinces him to let Meg get dressed and collect her iPod (obliviously thumping PJ Harvey into a desireless room) before she leaves, still looking a bit dazed at the sudden reversal.

But it’s Cas who slams the door after her.

He’s still naked—they both are—when he returns to where Dean’s curled up on the bed, to frown over the marks Meg’s left. He obliterates them all, the scratches, the bite marks, the blue-black blooms across Dean’s hips.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean says, his voice small and humiliated.

Cas looks up, surprised. “What have you done to be sorry for?” he asks.

“I came,” says Dean. “Not just that. I made her come. I wanted this, I wanted her.”

“I wanted this for you. And I will admit, I wanted her too. I thought I did.”

“But you had to see it, Cas. You had to watch me fucking her. I’m so sorry.”

Cas sighs, gathers Dean against him. “Dean, you are always beautiful in rapture. And I love your generosity. I loved watching how happy it made you to give her pleasure.” His voice hardens. “Although she did not deserve it, I am certain you were the best she ever had.”

Dean whimpers with relief. “I don’t know how the hell you think I deserve you, Cas. You know you made me come? Even not touching me, it was you.” He looks down, reaches down to grasp Cas’s half-hard cock, which twitches in his fist. “Can I?”

“Please.” Cas leans back against the pillow as Dean runs his tongue down his body and swallows his erection with a happy sigh. 

And when Cas comes a few minutes later, his triumphant shout rattling off the spell that surrounds them, it’s only Dean who hears.

**Author's Note:**

> The original inspiration for this fic was the caveat I always have to add in my SPN evangelism: "It's as good as Buffy, I swear! Except that it sucks with female characters." Then I thought of Cas & Dean racking their brains to think of a lady trois for a menage, and this is what happened.
> 
> Title from the Liz Phair song.


End file.
